


All My Own Stunts

by platypuz



Category: Arctic Monkeys
Genre: Angst, Dreams, I'm experimenting a little, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9413114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platypuz/pseuds/platypuz
Summary: Alex has a recurring dream about a familiar stranger.





	

**Author's Note:**

> After talking to a few people about this dynamics and realizing that they weren't weirded out, I felt the need to write this. Hope you'll like it and sorry about my english.

Before they entered stage for the first time, Alex was so nervous Matt had to sit him down, put an arm around his shoulder and wait patiently until his awful shaking reached a bearable degree.

To those who watched it, the gig went pretty good. The crowd was excited and their energy was extended to the band; well, at least three quarters of it. Alex was extremely self-conscious during the entire thing; as a frontman, he believed he had a certain stantard to achieve, things to worry about such as if he was cheering the crowd enough. 

He was the focal point, the image of the band, and he spends the night after wondering how the hell did he managed to end up performing that role.

He enjoyed playing and singing, obviously, but sometimes he wished he were someone else.

That feeling was there the first time, and is still there two years later - more quiet, but slowly corroding his insides the exact way. In one of those nights, he still wonders if he's suited for the role. And, in one of those nights, he dreams.

It's a quite normal setting (which would be an alarming sign, since Alex's dreams tend to be mystical, filled with formless colours and blurred shapes, but he's dreaming, so he doesn't pay attention to that): he's at a nightclub with his mates, although they're not together right now; from his spot on the bar, Alex catches periodical glimpses of Nick and Jamie, lost among the mass of bodies that is the dancefloor, and sees Matt talking to a lovely short-haired girl at a table. Emptying his drink, he gazes around until he captures a stranger's look from a dark corner.

Alex can't quite figure out the stranger's features, who is sat alone on one of the fancy leather couches across the vast room, away from all the extravagant lights, but he knows the guy's looking straight at him.

It feels like they stare at each other for an eternity until Alex hears the alarm.

The dream becomes a recurring one, and Alex losts count of how many times he and the stranger exchange crypted looks across that sumptuous, reddish room. Sometimes the elements are slightly changed; sometimes Alex's closer, and would be able to see him better if it wasn't for the girl now settled on the stranger's lap. In those times, he still manages to stare at Alex from over her shoulder, the strangely familiar pair of dark pools flooding his senses as he observes the way the girl's long legs hook around the stranger's waist, or the way his broad hands travel around her back.

It bothers him; why does the guy never approaches Alex? Or better, why doesn't Alex approach him? 

He already knows the answer. He can't control his dreams; so he decides to do a little research on internet about lucid dreams. When bedtime comes, Alex puts what he learned on practice: some of the tips include a meditation session, mentally repeating mantras and focusing on the movement of your fingers when lying on the bed, ready to fall asleep. He also reads that if you get too excited during a lucid dream you tend to wake up, so he keeps that on mind as well. 

It doesn't take long until he's there again; loud music thumping in his ears, a drink in his hand and the heavy weight of the stranger's gaze falling upon his shoulders once more.

And then Alex realizes he can do it. He can actually get up from his spot and walk to the guy, and that's what he does. 

He no longer has a girl on his lap, and as Alex comes closer the realization strikes him: the stranger looks exactly like him.

Well, not exactly exactly. The other one is pretty much dressed as a teddy boy, with leather jacket, white t-shirt, tight jeans and shining black boots, as well as a perfectly sculpted quiff. His skin is smooth, without any trace of acne, and his body is a little more muscular. His eyes, as Alex had previously noted, sports a playful, borderline wicked demeanor that now reaches his mouth, lips curving into a smirk.

"Who are you?" Alex hesitantly starts, his own voice sounding distant to himself.

"You'll find out soon enough." the other replies, gravely, and Alex's surprised how they manage to hear each other despite the music, without needing to raise their voices. The stranger empties his drink like Alex did earlier, and looks up at him again as he places the glass on the round, short table in front of the couch. "Care to join me?"

Alex thinks he's referring to his spot on the couch, but the other gets up and produces a cigarette pack from his pocket, nodding towards the exit. Alex acquiesces and follows him.

They find themselves at the small brick alley behind the club. The stranger (is he?) stands with his back to the wall, lifting a cigarette to his lips. Alex takes the cigarette he offers, mirroring his stance. He puts his hands on his pockets, suddenly feeling very anxious by the other's presence.

"Yes, I am."

"I didn't say anything." Alex states.

"I know what you're thinking. I'm not dumb."

The younger boy scans him from head to toe. "But you are, well..."

"We have more in common than you think." the other takes a long drag and return Alex's look. "What's troubling you, then?"

"I feel... I'm not... I'm not in the right place. I don't know how to do this."

"But you're already doing it."

"Sometimes I wish I were someone else. Not this awkward self."

"Do you think all musicians must go a certain way to be able to express themselves?" the other draws near Alex until their shoulders collide. Alex gulps dryly, very conscious about the weird feeling creeping up his spine.

"That's... That's not the point. I can't really explain..." Alex gives up, directing the cigarette towards his mouth again. He looks down at his feet, avoiding the grin plastered on the other's face.

"You don't need to. I know." 

He has inched even closer; pries the cigarette from Alex's fingers and throws it on the ground, stepping on it and proceeding to do the same to his own. Alex is unable to look away now; their eyes finally meet the way they had from across the room, and somehow the charge contained in that little exchange fills Alex with more electricity than his own gigs. 

"But you're great, Alex. You're great just being yourself." he cradles Alex's face with his palm, thumb stroking his cheek softly, and he leans into the other's touch. "And if I were lying, would I want to do this?"

The thumb placed on his cheek travels to his bottom lip, and Alex takes the message. 

When their lips met, it's wet and open-mouthed, and they can't keep their hands steady. They explore each other avidly; Alex brings to surface the desire to comb his fingers to that gelled hair and destroy that immaculate quiff. He feels the other tracing his back and pulling him closer; when Alex pulls away to breathe, he hits his head against the wall and lets out a pained groan. The other chuckles, moving his hand to the top of Alex's head, caressing him.

"Don't get too excited." he reminds Alex and proceeds to bite hard into his bottom lip, earning another groan from the boy - the nature of this one being slightly different.

His tongue traces along Alex's lip and soon returns to his mouth, seeming to explore every single area in its reach, which makes Alex almost go limp into his arms. They continue like this for a while, feeling each other up and breathing through their noses, until he pulls away and glares expectantly at Alex, who is flushed and panting.

"Wanna dance?"

-

Neither of them dance in the conventional sense of the word. 

It's more like "grasping onto each other tightly, completely ignoring the beat and finding their own rhythm". It's a heavy, frenetic beat that fills the ambient, and they're almost slow dancing through their snog. Amongst that, there's a myriad of reactions that passes from heavy breaths to throaty laughs, from small sighs to prolonged moans; and at this point, they don't know where one ends and the other begins. 

Alex is dazed when the other pulls away and grabs his hand to guide him through the conglomeration, and realizes he would follow him anywhere. 

They're sat on the starting point, the opulent red leather couch in the reserved area; almost no space left between them, Alex is laying his head on the other's shoulder, his hand stroking Alex's arm. They stay like this until Alex hears him speak:

"Don't you think you're sitting too far?"

Alex is confused initially, then lets out a small "oh" in understanding. He gradually makes his way to sit on the other's thigh, and wonders if he should settle on his lap when strong hands clutch his hips. 

"No no, stay like this."

The other proceeds to move his thigh upwards, causing a gasp to erupt from Alex's throat. 

He repeats the motion a few times and soon Alex is whining at the friction. He's been hard for a while - since they first got their hands on each other, to be precise - and probably won't last long.

Suddenly, the stimulation stops, and Alex squirms in protest. He looks at the other, pleading with glossy eyes, and receives a smirk in response.

"Move, Alex."

And Alex does; unsure, slowly, sighing at the bruising hold on his hips.

"C'mon, babe." one of the hands goes up to clasp the boy's jaw in order to join their mouths once more while the other snakes around his waist, pressing him firmly against the body beneath. The raspy tone that follows the act echoes in Alex's ears. "I know you've got the moves."

Alex sucks on a breath and eagerly starts moving back and forth, rotating his hips and planting his hands on the couch for support. 

"That's it. You're perfect, Alex. I wouldn't change a thing about you. Keep going."

His pace increases and they both can tell he's close; eyes screwed shut, head thrown back and quiet pleas escaping his lips. 

"Babe," the other requests. "Come."

\- 

He's suddenly bathed in sunlight.

It's too bright, and Alex hisses admist his clouded state, closing his eyes once more; then he opens it again and looks around, absorbing the dull view of his bedroom.

He looks down and notices a pillow between his legs, as well as an aching boner.

This isn't fair. It's frustrating and revolting, and he feels like he might burst into tears, but he's still got a request to fulfill. So he moves to straddle the pillow and ruts against it until he finally comes with a hoarse cry.

-

After that, Alex doesn't dream about him again.

It's like he's got closure in that matter, but it doesn't feel like it. 

Alexa makes him happy, but sometimes he spaces out in a odd way, and the reason remains a mystery to her. 

Through the course of the years, though, he gave a lot of thought to that distant dialogue, those reassuring words.

He's got more comfortable with himself in many aspects, but now there seems to be a hole within his soul. And when he and Alexa break up, that hole almost swallows him whole.

It's no longer a matter of wanting to be someone else, but Alex needs to be with him in some way.


End file.
